


Courage

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jacuzzi's eyes are overflowing, but he looks straight at her anyway, and there’s a fire in his eyes that makes Nice’s heart skid on a beat even before he speaks." Jacuzzi is courageous, and Nice is surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courage

Nice isn’t wearing pants with Jacuzzi comes into the room.

He has every right to be there. It is  _his_  bedroom, after all. And she’s got a shirt on, at his continued insistence, and underwear, but she has been waging a silent, continued battle on her boyfriend’s shyness and moral fortitude since...well, since the Pussyfoot, since she declared that he  _was_  her boyfriend. Jacuzzi hasn’t protested aloud, though he blushes furiously every time he sees more of her scarred legs than he expects. Nice figures that’s part embarrassment and part interest, and since the latter is her goal and the former is cute she spends a lot of time at his place with the bare minimum of clothing on.

She’s also got the pieces to a disassembled bomb spread out over the top cover of his bed, where she can toy with them while lying on her stomach over the mattress, but she’s sure that has a lot less to do with the red in his cheeks and the shake in his hands when he comes in than the bare skin of her thighs and calves. Especially from the way he goes darker and carefully  _doesn’t_  look when she folds her ankles over each other and swings them idly over herself as she looks up.

“Hey Jacuzzi.” She’s in the middle of a thought but not the middle of anything that will actually explode if left unattended, and Jacuzzi’s working the edge of his vest like he’s got something to say, so she lets her thought go and rests her chin on her hand. “What’s going on?”

“Nice?” Jacuzzi’s voice shakes so badly her name comes out like a question, but his eyebrows are pulled down in concentration so she lets him keep bracing himself up for whatever he wants to say. He takes a breath, firms his mouth, and his fingers on the edge of the plaid fabric go into fists just before he forces his chin up with the wobbly determination that always comes with tears. His eyes  _are_  overflowing, but he looks straight at her anyway, and there’s a fire in his eyes that makes Nice’s heart skid on a beat even before he speaks.

“Nice,” Jacuzzi says again, voice level now in spite of the wet of the tears under it, and he steps forward to the edge of the bed. It’s when one knee hits the floor that Nice suddenly realizes what’s going on, a second before Jacuzzi looks up at her and says, “Will you marry me?”

The words are so clear and so perfectly positioned that thinking back on it later, Nice can hear  _hours_  of practice behind them, and the thought of Jacuzzi practicing  _proposing_  to  _her_  warms her better than a flame. But in the moment there’s just a burst of adrenaline and a moment of perfect calm, like watching a fire just before the explosives catch, when the whole world slows down so her thoughts are moving double-time to her body.

“What?” she says into that clear moment, feeling through the movement of her mouth like she has to deliberately order every muscle to work individually.

Jacuzzi’s hands jerk harder at his vest; then he says “Oh!” and lets one hand go, reaches into the pocket sewn inside the fabric with hands that are shaking so badly Nice can see the tremors without even trying. His fingers come out clutching a silver loop, and Nice abruptly can’t remember how her lungs work.. He swallows again, forces his eyes to her face like he’s walking off a cliff, and extends the ring. It doesn’t shake at all, although Nice can see his mouth trembling now.

“Will you marry me, Nice?” he says again.

Nice realizes some response is in order, so she says the obvious thing. “Of course I will.” It’s very odd to hear her voice at such a remove, echoing inside her head like a stranger’s the way it does when she’s a little too close to an explosion, before the ringing fades away. “Is that for me?”

“Yeah.” Jacuzzi extends his hand a little farther. “It’s an engagement ring.”

“I can see that.” Nice reaches out to touch it and now  _her_  hands are shaking, the delayed adrenaline starting to rush in hot sparks through her blood. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” Jacuzzi says, so fast Nice is pretty sure it’s not planned. She can see him blush under the sheen of tears still coursing over his cheeks and her own skin heats, though she isn’t sure it’s enough to show up under the scars.

“Oh my god,” she manages. “Jacuzzi, how long have you been planning this?”

Jacuzzi is bright red, now, but he’s starting to smile like it’s being dragged out of him. “Since the Pussyfoot.”

“That was  _months_  ago,” Nice blurts needlessly.

Jacuzzi shrugs and pulls at his vest again. “It took a while to find the right ring.” He looks away from her face as he keeps talking. “I wanted it to fit under your gloves so it doesn’t get in your way. If you want to wear it, of course.”

Nice tugs her glove off with her teeth so she can fit the ring onto her finger. It settles over her skin, fits between her fingers so she can feel the pressure of the band when she makes a fist, and it shines in the dusty sunlight coming through the window.

“We’re gonna get married,” she says, trying the thought on for size. It fits in her head even better than the ring fits on her hand. “You’re gonna make an honest woman of me at last, huh?”

The fading remnants of Jacuzzi’s blush come back in full force. “Y--you  _are_  an honest woman, Nice!”

The laugh comes up with no warning, bubbling up her throat until it spills out into her mouth. “In spite of my best efforts to change that. You’re gonna insist on doing this the right way, huh?”

“You deserve it,” Jacuzzi says. His voice is serious, and when he brings a sleeve up to swipe off the damp on his cheeks his skin stays dry. Nice reaches out with her hand to brush her fingers against his face, tracing out the dark lines of the tattoo --  _her_  tattoo, as she always thinks of it -- and when she leans in over the bed to kiss him, she isn’t thinking of the parts under her, and Jacuzzi doesn’t flinch away.


End file.
